


Catch

by adelindschade



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: AU, F/M, skating au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 21:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15804963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adelindschade/pseuds/adelindschade
Summary: Catch:She didn't think he could catch her.He insisted he could.The one where Lara Jean takes a chance on Peter and isn't let down.P.S.Peter owes Kitty a BIG one.





	Catch

_3:45PM_

Lara Jean was always early – eager to practice privately before the other skaters arrived, always roughly 4:40ish. The skaters only got an hour, hour-and-a-half on good days, before the hockey team commandeered the space. An hour wasn’t enough for her, so she’d come earlier to practice individually before group training.

Lara Jean glided into the rink, stopping next to the benches where her little sister made herself situated. She leaned over the railing, eyeing the bounty of snacks Kitty had prepared.

“Where’d you get the popcorn?” Lara Jean asked with raised brow.

“From the concession stand,” Kitty half-lied. 

“You’ve been spending a lot of money on food here,” Lara Jean noticed. “Shouldn’t you be saving your allowance? What about the lunch I packed you?”

“I’ll eat it later,” Kitty shrugged. “How I spend my money is not your concern.”

“Alright, alright,” Lara Jean relented. She pulled off her jacket one sleeve at a time until it was off altogether, having some difficulty stripping the fabric from her arms as it was designed her hug her form. She folded the jacket over her arm and set it aside on the bench next to Kitty.

She could’ve kept it on but the cold scarcely bothered her. She spent so many hours a day at the rink Lara Jean had all but acclimated to the temperature. Secondly, she worked so vigorously that she’d more than likely sweat through the fabric, a mildly uncomfortable feeling. She preferred her usual attire – a spandex top with long transparent sleeves matched with a chiffon skirt, supported underneath by concealing spandex and durable tights.

Leggings were out of the question. She had learned early on she was just too short for most of them. Margot had tailored some for her when they were kids but her sister was in Scotland now, too busy studying. Lara Jean didn’t trust herself to modify a new pair.

She pushed herself off the ledge, slowly gliding towards the center of the practically empty rink.

She had a huge variety of colors to choose from but that day she felt pretty in pink – pastel pink specifically and decided to be a bit bold by paring the top with a wispy black skirt (the same color as her secondary skates). She felt like a ballerina, especially when she warmed up spinning.

Kitty had propped up the stereo on the ledge, preparing a special playlist. When Lara Jean warmed up, she wasn’t too concerned with the music selection, allowing Kitty to be creative with her song choices. For most of the time, Kitty’s choices weren’t terrible – far from it. She knew Lara Jean’s tastes.

A familiar tune echoed throughout the area. Lara Jean recognized it as one of her favorites. _Lovers_ by Anna from the North.

 

 

**TWO WEEKS BEFORE**

_5:20PM_

_God,_ Peter thought, _she looked stunning in blue._

She was oblivious to his gaze. She seemed to be oblivious to everything but the music – swaying to Taylor Swift blissfully. The rest of the skaters were finishing up, too, and began to head towards the exit. Lara Jean had to finish her set – ever the perfectionist – before returning to reality.

Reality came in the form of twenty-some heavily padded players scrambling on the ice. Almost colliding with Gabe, Lara Jean squeaked an apology and abruptly stopped her routine. She had already executed a few impressive axels – in the fact she gained so much height despite being so tiny. He knew from her little sister Lara Jean was obsessively determined to master the _triple_ axel after accomplishing the double.

She was a natural. She was so sprightly on the ice, leaping fluidly and landing gracefully with her leg high up. Or sometimes she’d stop to spin after encircling the rink, earning the momentum she needed.  It fascinated Peter how close together her skates were, they appeared tangled. She’d cross her arms against her chest and spin so fast, he couldn’t comprehend how she didn’t lose her equilibrium. She always seemed so center, so focused, and when she moved – _God_ – it was as if she had no bones. She glided with purpose, always doing something, and never at a standstill.

Her skirt would flutter with every tilt, every steer, and its movement – her hip movement – would mesmerize Peter. She’d always have her hair tied high in a pony tail and it’d wisp behind her after each spin, turn, and glide. It drove him absolutely _crazy_.          

Then she’d sometimes just coast, or so he thought, until she’d raise her leg behind her, holding it with both hands and assuming that pose while skating effortlessly on a single skate. That certainly earned some admiration – from not just him either. All his teammates would remark on the skaters, how flexible they were, how pretty they were, etch. Lara Jean especially – her form was immaculate – and to hear them fantasize on her figure made Peter’s blood boil.

Then there was another thing she could do that Peter couldn’t help but notice. She could get so low to the ice, balanced on a single skate, while extending her leg straight out, hand clutching her Achilles, and bending her body inwards to maintain speed as she continued gliding.

But Peter’s favorite performance was when Lara Jean freestyled. No routine. No acrobats.

Just coasting with the rhythm to a song she undeniably liked. She’d forget she had an audience at all and move her shoulders freely, smiling brilliantly as she danced to her tunes. Sometimes he’d catch her mouthing along to the lyrics. She’d spin slowly, a wisp of long, silky black hair shadowing behind her. Her fingers ghosted above her head or around her, reaching out to the air, and he often wondered if she was reaching for someone – and if that someone could be him.

Or when she looked behind her, anticipating the turn, if she was looking beyond just the next curve, and perhaps to him.

“Kavinsky!  Stop daydreaming!” Gabe apprehended him, laughing at his Captain’s expense when Peter almost tripped on Gabe’s stick.

“Hey, watch where you put that thing,” he snapped with a scowl. He lost sight of Lara Jean. She had disappeared, obstructed by the dozens of players scattered on the ice.

“Cool it, man,” Gabe raised a brow. “You’re crush isn’t going anywhere.” He pointed a gloved finger towards the east. Peter followed that direction and noticed a similar wisp of blue glide to the ledge. On the other side, Kitty handed her a red bundle – her jacket – and Lara Jean hastily pulled it over her torso. She lifted her hands to her neck, only to push her pony tail out, and it tapered over her back. “When are you gonna make a move?”

“I’m getting there,” he said. He already had some help from Kitty. She had cornered him a week ago.

_You’re cute._

_Uh, thanks, kid, but I think I’m a bit too old for you._

_Oh, I know. I’m not interested in you. My sister is though._

_Huh?_

_Lara Jean. You know, the girl who’ve been staring at since forever?_

_She’s your sister?_

_Yeah. Look, she needs a love life. I know you’re interested in her. I want to help you but I need something in return. It’s not going to be easy convincing her to step out of her bubble._

_Sure, kid. What’s your price?_

_I’ll tell you her schedule for a large cherry coke. Those are her favorite, by the way._

_You got yourself a deal, kid. What’s your name by the way?_

_Katherine. My friends call me Kitty._

_Nice to meet you, Kitty. I can call you Kitty, right?_

_Yep._

_Cool. I’m Peter. Peter Kavinsky._

_Pleasure is all mine, Peter._

For a price like a box of Sour Patch Kids or a bucket of popcorn, he’d receive small tidbits on his crush. Like how she always arrived early to practice on her own. Or her personal playlist. Or how she had a huge crush on Peter in seventh grade. He remembered the kiss they shared at Gen’s house. Had he known the crush was mutual back then, maybe he’d have reconsidered dating Gen. She didn’t though. Instead, the three split ways – Gen and Peter gravitating one way, together – and Lara Jean alienating herself to a small bubble of friends.

Things have changed then – Gen broke up with Peter, replacing him with some college stud – and Lara Jean blossomed from the insanely cute girl to the prettiest damn thing he’d seen. The childhood crush had blown into a freaking obsession, his friends remarked. Maybe it was fate working itself out. Peter just had to make the most of his circumstances. Unfortunately, easier said than done. She’d always find a way to avoid him, whether it was intentional or not.

“You better soon,” Gabe remarked. “I saw Josh Sanderson make a move on her Saturday morning. He drove her to practice and she left in his car afterwards.”

“Didn’t he date her sister?” Peter growled.

“Yeah. I guess he has a thing for Covey girls,” Gabe shrugged. “I’m not judging. Both are pretty. I’d say Lara Jean is prettier though.” She was. “I mean, look at her. You’d have to be blind if you didn’t see her and think _‘Goddamn’_. If you hadn’t already made it obvious you liked her, I bet you half the hockey team would have tried to ask her out.”  Like Martinez did for Homecoming but she turned him down. Martinez eventually moved on thankfully.

That would not do. At all. Peter felt hot all over. The idea she would succumb to such a Bon Iver wannabe made him boil. Josh Sanderson would not be his rival. That’d be freaking ridiculous. Peter shouldn’t have to compete with that dweeb.

Lara Jean was making her exit, crossing the rink to where the women’s room was located. Peter grinned at Gabe and pushed him aside, dead set of catch up with the evasive girl.

Only, he overestimated his speed. Because he was coming in too _fast_.

He only caught of glimpse of Lara Jean. She saw his incoming figure and accelerated to avoid a collision. She had been closer to the wall and more in control of her movements compared to Peter who had braked too fast, too hard, and too _late_.  He’d been an experience hockey player. He played since he was _seven_. Yet, she had the advantage of maneuvering _out_ of the uncomfortable small space. He didn’t, at least not in that moment.

He had collided with the floor boards before. He had been rammed by opposing players who wanted to make a point. Hell, he’d been hit with flying pucks. They certainly hurt.

They felt painless to the consuming embarrassment Peter felt the sheer second his entire form bounced off the boards and fell flat against the ice. He could hear the deafening thud ring in his ears. Just barely he could hear the roar of his teammates laughing. Luckily, he was wearing a helmet – so the impact didn’t crack his skull. In all honesty, he’d take a concussion any day over that single moment. He _never_ lived it down.

Apparently, after she had seen the impact, winced, and scurried away.

He had to endure being the butt of the joke for the entire practice – all two hours of it – and the weeks to come. Even Kitty chastised him.

 

 

 

**PRESENT**

_4:12PM_

He wasn’t shy. Not in the slightest. He had a _plan_.  It just involved the perfect entrance. The one where she didn’t see him coming, preferably. Hard to do when she couldn’t stay in one place. So, he settled at the far end of the rink, where he usually entered, and hid himself in the box pretending the tie his skates whenever she neared. Thus far she hadn’t noticed.

Maybe it was the disguise – she’d only seen him in his gear; the ultra-heavy padding and stick. This time, he was severely underdressed; only in jeans and a dark blue sweatshirt. Technically he was going against the rink rules but where’s the fun in that? His hair was still in pristine condition, not yet ravaged by sweat like it usually did under his helmet.

He raised his head to watch her figure swivel away – she was practicing some fancy footwork for sure.

She worked the _hell_ out of that outfit. She had so much control over her movement. He especially liked the transition from one hip to the other – that was a view he’d never tire of.

His mind managed to drift back to the letter – the one he apparently hadn’t gotten yet but would get soon. Kitty made some comment about childhood love letters Lara Jean wrote. It made Peter grin enormously when he discovered he was a recipient of one – and then registered the implication of ‘ _one of’_ – as if _more than one_.

_Wait, how many?_

_Not my place to tell._

_Kitty! Come one. Kid! Help me out. You can’t just dump that on me and not expect me to go a little crazy._

_Nuh-huh._

_Seriously, kid? I just bought you popcorn – and not the bag kind. The bucket kind. Double the price. You owe me._

_Hmm. Fine. Only because I feel generous. She wrote five. That’s all I’m telling. Step up your game, Peter._

_You’re supposed to be helping me!_

_I am. I’m kicking your butt in gear. Get to it._

Worst, other than not knowing who the other competition was, Kitty mentioned Josh already got his own letter. Josh, as in Josh Sanderson. Josh Sanderson got a love letter. Josh Sanderson got a freaking love letter. What did he do to warrant that kind of attention? Wasn’t it part of girl code, or sister code, to not date the other girl’s ex or something? He had to complete with at least Josh and God knows who else?

Not knowing was the absolute worst feeling ever. He was just hoping whatever she wrote in his letter would soothe some of his anxiety.

She began to dance giddily as the song changed. Her focus dimmed, her smile brightened.

_Oh, don't you dare look back / Just keep your eyes on me / I said you're holding back / She said shut up and dance with me!_

Her hip rolls became much more apparent. She twirled endlessly to the chorus, swinging her arms around at her side, pumping in front of her, or swishing back and forth depending on lyric. She put on hand on her hip and bumped to the beat. The next moment she’d pick up her feet as if she was dancing without skates or roll her shoulders.

Kitty was recording some of it, cheering on her sister. Peter could only admire from afar, grinning helplessly as she danced freely. He’d have to ask Kitty to send him a copy. Or maybe freeze a photo for him to save. He could almost envision her blissful face as his wallpaper. Was that creepy? Maybe. He’d wait until the flirtation was mutual.

Lara Jean was totally in her element and she practically glowed.

He could stare for ages. But that wasn’t part of the plan. He’d get out there soon.

He and Kitty caught eyes. The little gremlin narrowed hers tightly. He could already read her mind.

_What are you doing? Stop sitting around. Do something._

She was tough little cookie but she had helped him in more ways imaginable. With a grimace, a deep breath, he stood up. Why was he feeling so nervous? Peter was never nervous – he was cool, cool as a cucumber. He never got himself this worked up. He felt like he was in seventh grade already, staring at Lara Jean from across the floor.

A loud yelp caught his attention. Lara Jean suddenly lost her footing and fell backwards, luckily only bruising her tail end. The strike didn’t seem to bother her too much as she stood up immediately after (though, not without a wince).

“What are you doing, Lara Jean?” Coach Kitty yelled.

“Hey! You’re not the one who’s having a life crisis!”

“Excuses! Big deal! Josh knows you had – have – a crush on him.”

“Seriously, Kitty? He was supposed to never know and now he thinks I’m irrevocably in love with him. How do you go from there? Everything is ruined. Margot is going to kill me. I want to crawl into a hole and die.”

If Peter ever got a kick in the rear – that was it.

He was getting real tired hearing about that dweeb Josh Sanderson.

 

 

_4:23PM_

 Kitty didn’t understand – how would she? She wasn’t put in that position.

Those letters were never, ever, ever meant to be sent out. They were cathartic material – the kind to make her feel less crazy about unrequited loves; yet they caused the exact opposite reaction so many years later – biting her in the butt hard.

She winced at the soreness when she rubbed her rump. She was so deep in thought, going insane with scenarios, that she half-thought her turn – not putting the right foot first – and couldn’t correct in time. Fudge, that hurt!

She had planned to leave early – she just couldn’t face Peter. Absolutely not. Josh was one thing, Peter was another. She shared a rink with him. They would have an audience. She’d be a laughing stock. Maybe it was time to call it quits – pack it up and sulk in her room until the embarrassment wore off.

And as if fate heard her, she could hear another pair of skates’ skit too close to comfort. She almost knew before turning her head that it _had_ to Peter. She just knew. (He had a very distinct musk – the kind she had wished would wrap around her). It would be too coincidental, if not.

He was too early – and too underdressed. (Handsome as always). He was wearing his favorite blue hoodie and that heart stopping smile, the kind that usually got him his way. She began to panic, eyes wide and mouth agape. Oh no, what was she going to say? What was she going to do?

So, she did the rational thing.

Run. Err, skate.

Foolish of her to think she could outskate him. He was one of the best hockey players on the team. If she could just grab her jacket and go, that would be phenomenal. But no, her escape was blocked by a six-foot-something (six-foot-two, maybe three?) broad shouldered boy. He circled around her after realizing what she was attempting to do. It came natural to him – defense was one of his favorite positions.

“Hey, Covey,” he grinned.

Oh no. Her heart sank. This was it. She was going to die of embarrassment.

“Hi,” she squeaked. Squeaked. Like four octaves higher than the human average. She sounded like a freaking otter. What a way to start things.

“How’s it going?”

“Good, good,” she mumbled quickly, nodding furiously. She avoided his eyes, scanning around the arena. Kitty, ever the sadist, seemed to enjoy her misery. The girl was grinning from ear to ear. She bravely turned back to Peter and stammered an excuse. “Um. It’s early. You’re early. I should go. I have – I have trig. So… great talk! See you around!”

“Hold up,” he intercepted her. He pulled out his arm just as she was about the lunge around him. She ran into his forearm and like the brick he was built to be, barely moved a muscle.

She was done for.

“Yes?”

“Can we talk?”

“No.”

That came out faster than she expected – or even at all. It was instinct at this point. She was on self-preservation mode.

“Come on, Covey. We we’re friends once. Can’t we have a chat?”

“Uh, another time?”

He simply shook his head, ever so slowly, with a glint in his eye and a matching grin.   

“Look, if it’s about the letter, honestly, I wrote that like, forever ago. Seventh grade. I don’t feel the same. You don’t have to worry about me, okay? I’m totally over it. Over you. So, it’s all good! Okay. Awesome. Great chat. I have to go.”

She spoke a mile a minute – barely even making sense to herself. Yet, she could see his emotions mix. Intrigue. Amusement. Apprehension. Disappointment? Then curiosity.

“What letter?”

_Oh. My God._

 “This isn’t about the letter?”

“There’s a letter?”

Her stomach dropped. Oh no. _Oh no_.

Kill her now. Put her out of her misery.

“Oh, just forget about. It’s nothing. It’s a stupid letter I wrote like a billion years ago when I was in middle school. I don’t know how they were sent out but they were and like, it’s a disaster, so I’d really like to go home and deal with that, thank you very much. Okay, can you please let me go?”

“That’s a negative, Covey. Tell me more about this letter,” he smirked. He almost looked a hurt a second ago when she said she was over him. Surely that wasn’t her imagination. She shook the thought as furiously as she shook her head.

“Absolutely not,” she said indignantly. She was humiliated enough. She wouldn’t submit herself to more. She raised her chin highly, tautly, and reversed.

“I’m not playing catch with you,” Peter warned.

“Good,” Lara Jean smiled tightly, “because I don’t want you to catch me.”

“I thought girls liked that,” Peter raised a brow. He was trailing after her as she tried to circle around him and back to the exit. “Especially figure skaters. Don’t you guys have partners to, like, catch you midair?”

“Yeah,” she shrugged. She was eyeing the left, where the opener was significantly larger. Then again, Peter made a pretty good career of intercepting. There was no guarantee she’d evade him. She continued to skate in circles, slowly, deliberately. He didn’t seem to hasten his pace. Instead, he mimicked her speed, and followed her around in the exact same movements. “Takes years of practice. Years of building trust. Its not something just anyone can do.”

“Can’t be too hard,” Peter suggested.

“It actually is,” Lara Jean swiveled around him, changing direction. He spun quickly to catch up. “One miscalculation and someone’s going to the ER.”

He nodded, considering it. “I can see that. So, you haven’t ever dreamt of being caught?”

She has. Plenty of times. She considered it one of her top romantic gestures. _The Cutting Edge_ was a classic for her. Alongside _Dirty Dancing_ and _16 Candles_. She watched the former at least once of month. She’d never tire of it. However, she’d never divulge Peter that.

“Not really your concern,” she retorted.

“Call it curiosity,” he returned.

“Well,” she snipped, “your curiosity is better suited elsewhere.”

“Cruel, Covey,” he shook his head.

“If it’s not about the letter – which, if you do get it, don’t open it! Just give it back to me,” she pointed, then she softened her voice. “Please.” She returned to her previous tone. “If it’s not about the letter, what did you want to talk about?”

“Forget about it,” Peter shrugged.

“I’m curious.”

“Your curiosity is better suited elsewhere.”

She glared at him. How dare he spin her words.

Then she spotted someone behind him, hovering behind the glass with an intense expression.

“Lara Jean?” Peter called.

She panicked and she was certain it showed. She promptly changed her tune and skidded closer to Peter than she has before.

“Crap,” she hissed. He followed her gaze, noticing Josh lingering in the corner. She could have sworn he scowled.

“Let’s make a deal,” she hissed quietly. They were incredibly close. His body was obstructing hers. “You can ask me anything about the letter. Just, skate with me, okay? I don’t want to talk to Josh.”

“You want me to play distraction?” There was a quirk in his voice, as if amused, and not taken aback by her sudden request.

“Yes, please,” she pleaded.

His answer was quick. She felt his bare hands grip onto her waist and pulled her forward. She clutched onto his forearms in response.

“Thank you,” she whispered earnestly.

“Anytime, kid,” He chuckled. “Hey, can I catch you?”

“What?” she furrowed her brows. “No! That’s dangerous.”

“Come on, girl. I got you.”

“I don’t trust you to catch me. Two weeks ago, you crashed into the boards and hit the floor! I don’t want to end up the same way!”

He visibly winced. “You remember that?”

She nodded slowly. “I pretty sure everyone will remember that. You hit the ice really loudly.”

“Can you, like, erase that from your memory?”

She chuckled. “No,” she shook her head. “Sorry.”

“Alright, well, I want to catch you. I can do it.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re tiny and I think it’s kind of cool.”

“No,” she resisted. “But,” she moved her hands downwards, until they were atop of his. “We can make our way up there. First, we need to establish control.”

“Covey,” he shot her a look plain to decipher. _I got control. I_ am _control._ Ever so cocky.

“My bones, my rules.” Lara Jean said firmly. With a humble bow of the head, he relented. “Can you even lift me?” She didn’t mean to make it sound like a challenge but that’s how Peter interrupted it.

He shot her a dry look. Of course, he could lift her. She was barely a hundred pounds soaking wet. He was easily a foot taller than her and those muscles had to count for something.

“ _Oh my God!_ ” She shrieked loudly. She was hoisted rapidly up the air, losing contact with the ice at an alarming height. Her feet dangled while his hands gripped under her arms for proper support. “Peter! Put me down!”

“No,” he chuckled. He carried her like she weighted nothing. The entire time she clung onto his arms for dear life, praying he didn’t slip and drop her. “See? Piece of cake.”

“Just because you can hold me doesn’t mean you can catch me!” She hissed. “Put me down before your drop me!”

He was enjoying this. Definitely. The smirk was a tell-tale sign. His eyes speckled with gold – just like she remembered – and his energy was contagious. She desperately tried to resist it.

“Only if you promise we can try something,” he negotiated.

“Peter! Please!”

“Promise, Lara Jean.”

“Fine! Promise!”

He set her down but refused to let go of her hands.

“Your hands are so tiny,” he observed. His hands practically swallowed hers.

“All the better to hit you with,” she slapped his shoulder. It barely made a dent and he laughed loudly. “That wasn’t nice, Peter. Give a girl a warning, would you?”

“Okay,” he smiled. “Alright. A warning. Got it. Can we do something now? I want you run into my arms and I’ll lift you up.”

“Technically, I can’t run,” she pointed. He rolled his eyes.

“Fine, skate.”

“Why are you so adamant to try this?” She questioned but nonetheless reverse, gaining distance to earn the momentum she needed.

“Because, Lara Jean,” Peter pressed, “I want to. It’s cool. I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Don’t drop me,” she glared. She accelerated forward, bracing for impact.

He did the same thing as before – cupping her under the arms – and lifted her effortlessly from the ice. Only this time, he spun in a circle. She squealed in delight as they rotated. Her legs swung with gravity and he carefully planted her back onto the surface but rather than coast in a single spot, continued to skate – pulling her behind him. Their fingers entangled and she enjoyed the warmth of his palm against her.

Kitty had played a DJ Khalid song, one that Peter recognized. He began to dance along, dipping shoulders and pulling her closer so that they were elbow length apart, hands high. She wrinkled her nose in laughter, he did, too, and she tried to covertly admire his dimples at such a close range.

“This is nice,” Lara Jean admitted.

“You think?” he asked.

“Yeah, isn’t it?”

Now she was nervous. She thought he was enjoying himself. Was he just teasing her?

“It is,” he agreed sincerely. “So, the deal… what about this letter?” He smirked.

She groaned and threw her head back. “It’s so stupid.”

“Love letters aren’t stupid,” he objected.

“They are when you’re in middle school,” she argued.

“I don’t think so,” he shrugged.

“Because you’re the recipient – you get to bask in the fact someone wrote you a letter,” she threw out.

“Wait,” his brows furrowed, “you never got a love letter? Ever? Not even a note?”

She shook her head. “Nope.” He didn’t know how to answer that one. Not a single love letter?

“What about dates? Boyfriends?” He knew she didn’t have any. Why did he bother asking?

“I thought we were talking about your letter, not my love life,” she retorted. He was effectively silenced by her pointed look. He hit a sore spot. He’d have to work his way into her graces. The day she’d let him in would be worthy of celebration.

“Is Josh still watching?” He redirected. He looked to where Kitty was, where Josh was now settled. He had to resist every fiber in his body to now burn a hole into his head. He’s not making a move on just one girl but the other one, too? Peter had to make it clear. Both were off limits. Kitty was his partner-in-crime.

“He’s not going away anytime soon,” she groaned. “Can you stay a little longer? Please? I don’t want to face him yet.”

“Anytime,” he nodded. “I have an idea. Do you trust me?”

“Shoot,” Lara Jean nodded. He grinned broadly. He rotated her until her back was pressed to her chest. She couldn’t resist the smile growing on her face. His presence made her heart skip many beats. He clasped his hands together in front of her, resting atop her abdomen, and she laid her hands atop of his out of habit. She wondered if he could feel the butterflies in the pit of her stomach. He rested his face atop of her head and began to skate freely – the way he had seen her – and she mirrored his movements perfectly.  They were almost heel-to-toe.

Her hair smelled wonderful. Like coconuts. And as soft as he imagined. And her body fit perfectly against his.

He was never going to recover from this moment. If flickers of her pony tail haunted him, the feeling of her tucked in his embrace was going to plague him. He could already tell he was ruined.

“Can you undo your hair?” He asked, tickling her ear.

She complied instantly. She lifted her hand to pull the scrunchie out and shook out her hair freely. She could feel him grin against the crown of her head.

“I like your hair down,” he mused.

“Admiring me?” She teased.

“Always,” he admitted.

Her breath caught in her throat.

“You look pretty.”

She blushed profusely. “Thank you,” she mumbled. She tried to avoid his gaze but his eyes caught hers and they stared for a solid minute, reading the other’s expression.

She spun to face him, hands planted on his chest, and he kept his hands on the small of her back. He began to guide the movements and she trusted him not to let her go.

“He’s leaving,” he said quietly.

“Huh?”

“He’s almost gone. I think he finally got the hint.”

“Oh.”

She swallowed.

“Thank you,” she quickly added.

“Anytime,” he smiled.

She didn’t want to – really, she didn’t. She felt so good in his arms. She had dreamed of moments like that. She relished in them. However, she knew this was unrealistic. He was Peter Kavinsky. She was Lara Jean Covey. Two different worlds. It was doomed. So, she tried to pull away.

“Where are you going?”

He wasn’t letting her go. His expression alluded confusion.

“I should go. Thank you. For everything.”

“Wait,” he closed the distance between them. “I thought we were having a good time.”

“We are,” she nodded. “I had so much fun.”

“Then why are you cutting it short?”

“Because,” she struggled to find the words. “Because it won’t last. Once we’re done, we’ll go on as if it never happened.”

“Says who,” he refuted. His eyes burned into hers.

She swallowed roughly. “Says everyone. You just got out of relationship. I never been one. That’s never a good recipe.”

“I like you, Lara Jean. I like you a lot. What you’re saying doesn’t make sense. You first told me you were over me. Now you you’re saying you’re scared of being with me. But we just spent the last twenty minutes enjoying time together. Stop overthinking things.”

“Peter,” she scoffed.

“I. Like. You. Lara Jean.”

“This isn’t a date.”

“The Hell it isn’t.”

“Peter!”

“Non-negotiable.”

“How will this work?”

“Easy as catching you,” he grinned.

“But it’s not easy!”

“You said that and yet, I still caught you,” he crinkled his nose, grinning.

“That wasn’t a catch. That was a lift!”

“Fine. Let’s do a legit catch. If I catch you, you owe me a second date. If I don’t, you can call it all off, and I can continue pining off the sidelines until you come to your senses.”

“Peter, that’s so risky!”

“So is this,” he gestured to the space between them. She scowled. “Come on, I got you. Let’s do this. I can prove this to you.”

Never let it be said Lara Jean didn’t step up to the plate. She straightened her posture out.

“Fine. One chance. One catch. Don’t drop me.”

He smirked. “Don’t plan to. Stop holding back. Come to me.” He waved his hands, gesturing her to come forward.

She shook terribly. She hated the notion of it all. But she had something to prove. So, skating ahead, she anticipated the worst outcome. He’d fumble, she’d fall, and they could walk away strangers like they were the day before.

She bent her knees and prepared to lift.

_Don’t close your eyes_ , she reminded herself.

Yet, that’s exactly what she did.

She braced for impact.

She could feel herself part with the ice and she stiffened instinctively.

What she had no anticipated was him skating forward to close the distance she unintentionally put between them, as if she set them up for failure.

She felt his hands hook onto her hip. She felt herself dip before gravity leaned her forward. She found herself propped against his chest and his breath on her forehead. Her stomach flipped and her eyes were hesitant to open, afraid to meet his own.

She acted the moment gravity threatened to drop her. Even with his hands on her hip, she still threw her hands out to grip the nearest thing. The nearest things happened to be his shoulders. She gripped them for dear life, clutching the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. She could feel him smile against her flesh.

Why did she like being in his arms so much? He felt so, so, so strong. He adjusted his hold, supporting her weight by tucking his forearms under her butt. It felt so intimate. She habitually squeezed her legs around his hips, too, for more security.

Her hair fell forward, curtaining both their faces.

“Caught you, Covey,” he whispered. Her spine shivered.

“Can you put me down?” she matched his tone.

He shook his head. “Nah, I like this too much.”

“Okay,” she relented.

“You owe me a second date,” he nuzzled.

“Fine,” she agreed. She refused to meet his gaze and instead took in his scent.

“You gotta look up, Covey.”

She shook her head.

“Lara Jean.”

“No.”

“Come on. Please?”

She slowly brought her face up, meeting his eyes boldly.

“Yes?”

“Atta girl,” he gleamed. “Tomorrow. Seven-Thirty after practice. Coffee shop next door. I’ll text you.”

“You don’t have my number,” she knitted her brows together, “and you don’t know if I’m busy or not!”

“I do,” he grinned, “and you’re not busy.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You have practice until 4:45. You go straight home for dinner and homework. You spend Friday nights watching movies with your little sister. Said sister will be conveniently at her friend’s house tomorrow night. So, you have two choices. You can either watch a movie alone or you can have a coffee with me after a long day on the rink. Hell, I can drive you, too. I know you hate driving. I know where you live. I’ll pick you up from your house when you normally leave. I’ll drop off Kitty at school, too.”

“How do you know all of this?” She hissed.

“Your sister.”

“She wouldn’t.”

“She has. Longer than you think. Ask her. I earned her stamp of approval. I’ve been Kitty approved.” He sounded so proud of himself. That was one hurdle he crossed and perhaps one of his toughest. Family can be a bit tricky, especially with sisters who are fiercely protective.

Both of them looked at the young culprit who was waving enthusiastically at the couple.

“I’m going to kill her,” Lara Jean shook her head.

“She’s just looking out for you,” Peter defended.

“She shouldn’t be meddling.”

“You were being stubborn.”

“Fine. Don’t be late. I hate lateness.”

“I know. Kitty told me,” he chuckled. “Don’t I get a kiss? I kind of just swept you off your feet.”

“No,” she pressed her palm against his lips. “We’ll see how this develops.” He pouted. She was unmoved. “Let me down, please.”

He acquiesced but hesitated to remove his hands from her waist.

“I will see you tomorrow morning,” she bid. “Thank you. For today. I had fun.” He smiled, very much please. “Um, I have to meet with the other girls. You should probably get ready. Practice starts in less than an hour for you.”

“Will you be watching?” He quirked, tilting his head.

She teased a smile. “Always.”

They shared a mutual expression of coyness and bliss before skating away, turning ever so slowly. Kitty all but pounced on her, asking all sorts of questions. Before leaving to the locker room, he caught Kitty’s approving thumbs up. He winked back and saluted.

He was in a daze for the entire time.

Lara Jean said yes.

He was going on a date with Lara Jean.

Tomorrow.

Damn it. He should have told her to wear the blue suit tomorrow. He loved that blue suit.

He needed to give Kitty a bonus. He’d go buy her a king-sized Kit-Kat tomorrow.

He kind of touched Lara Jean’s ass. It was as perky and firm as he imagined it to me. He wanted to get a better grip of her legs. When they wrapped around him, he nearly had a heart attack.

He didn’t get time to appreciate her hair as he wished. He’d have to fix that next time.

A million things went through his mind he almost missed Gabe coming in.

“In here early, huh? Trying to catch a glimpse of Lara Jean?” Gabe teased.

He had no idea. He simply grinned and shrugged

“Today’s the day, huh?”

They always joked – today’s the day, right? – and almost always Peter failed in his mission to intercept Lara Jean. Gabe wouldn’t know what hit him today. Peter would enjoy every second of it. He was tired of being the butt of the joke. He was going to nip it the bud for good.

The rest of the team seeped in, grabbing their gear, throwing on pads, and shuffling on their jersey’s.

“Watch the boards, Kavinsky!” Devin teased.

“Fuck off,” he scowled.

 

 

 

_5:19PM_

The girls were finishing up. Lara Jean was closer than usual, coasting towards the center rather than the far side. They exchanged glances. She blushed. He winked. No one seemed to notice thus far.

“Looking good, Covey!” he yelled.

Gabe struck him in the back.

“Subtle, dude,” he laughed.

She shook her head and pretended to ignore him.

The boys warmed up for ten minutes, watching the girls gather their bags and jackets. Instead of her usual route, Lara Jean made a bold move to Peter’s normal exit where the boys usually situated.

“Hey Kavinsky, now’s the chance!” one of the players beckoned. Others hooted and hollered. Kavinsky raised himself up to greet her.

“Hey Lara Jean,” he grinned.

“Peter,” she mirrored, stopping short of the ledge.

The rest of the players whistled and an echo of _‘Ooh’_ resounded behind him.

“Lara Jean, run when you have the chance!” Gabe exclaimed. Laughter ensued.

“Ignore them,” he mouthed.

“I know,” she returned softly, nodding.

“So…”

“I totally forgot something,” she said. His mouth pursed. _Oh please, don’t let it bad news._

“Yes?” he tried to play it off.

“I was thinking about it,” she continued.

“Okay…”

“I just need to come on out here,” she subtly beckoned him out. “Privacy, please.”

“Ooh, someone’s in trouble,” one of the players shouted.

She brought him out a few yards, until they were out of hearing range.

“You’re not backing out now, are you?” Peter pleaded.

She shook her head. “Nope. Just the opposite.”

It happened so fast. He didn’t register her fingers needling in his hair, beckoning him lower so their lips could connect. The moment he tasted her peppermint chapstick, he took control. He pressed her closer, enjoying the feel of her body tucked against his. Her other hand clutched his arm while the other traced patterns on the back of his neck.

“I kind of like that,” she mumbled.

“What?” he grinned.

“When you play with my hair.”

He didn’t even know he was doing but upon reflection, he indeed was combing her locks – free flowing, as if she pulled her hair tie off last minute.

“I like when you touch mine,” he grinned.

“Can you do that thing,” she asked, “where you pick me up?”

If his heart could leap out of his chest it would have then and there.

She squealed in delight as he heaved her up, supporting her rear on his forearms. He continued to kiss her like a thirsty man.

His friends and teammates were going wild. He could hear them lose their minds in the background. Gabe can finally shove it.

_“What the fuck, Kavinsky?”_

_“He did it!”_

_“Atta boy!”_

_“HOLY SHIT!”_

_“When did this shit happen?”_

_“Whoop, whoop!”_

“Good luck with practice,” she whispered against neck. He shivered. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.”

“Promise,” he assured. She dropped from his arms and slid away, bidding him one last coy look before exiting her usual route.

He glided backwards, not quite ready to turn around until she was out of sight. When she disappeared, he spun slowly, still blissfully captivated by the memory of her mold – her soft lips, long hair, and oh so perky butt.

That all went the blank for a moment when his forehead collided with the glass.

Laughter roared from the other end.

_Fuck his life._


End file.
